


can't shake the taste (that's the city for you)

by sadrobotboy (bruisesandcontusions)



Category: Bandom
Genre: Implied Addiction, M/M, basically just angst poetry in fic form, dubcon, underage but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisesandcontusions/pseuds/sadrobotboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>the moon bred new atlantic life tonight.the salt burned you right out of my eyes.and secrets we’re not proud of were taken with the tide. we were all newborns with blurred vision and no sense of direction.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>today i saw cancer, cigarettes and shortness of breath.this is why i walk to the ocean.swim with jellyfish.i may never get this chance again.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't shake the taste (that's the city for you)

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to write something vaguely canonic with teenage!william and midtown!gabe, but then this happened instead. as with everything gabilliam, i have to thank [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/469980) fic, fast times, and will for being the best beta/enabler ever - i owe it all to you, baby.

gabe says, “follow me,” and william does. he does because he is 17 and as close to reckless as he knows how to be, and gabe saporta from midtown is taking his hand and dragging him along the hallway, and there is no way he could ever say no.

he follows gabe outside and lets himself be pulled down onto the grass, even though it’s november in chicago and the ground is already sparkling with frost. gabe flops onto his back and william does the same, watching gabe as he watches the stars and mouths words too small for william to hear. he wonders if gabe knows the names of the constellations, if he believes they can tell the future. william’s never been one for astrology, but right now he wants to know what the stars are saying. 

gabe turns to look at william and smiles, wide and intoxicated. 

“you’re william, right?” he asks, and william nods. he doesn’t trust himself to talk right now. gabe sighs and closes his eyes and says, “william, william, william.” 

his hand reaches out to touch william’s face, fingers brushing his cheek, and william reminds himself sharply that he is 17 and his parents will kill him when he gets home tomorrow. 

“you’re very pretty,” says gabe, still stroking william’s forehead, cheekbone, jaw, like a blind man tracing contours. 

“your eyes are closed,” william points out. 

gabe considers this for a moment, then leans in so close that william can feel his breath against his cheek. he wills himself not to shiver. 

“mmm,” gabe hums, and the buz of his lips against william’s skin is like electric. “you’re still pretty though.” 

gabe’s eyes are still closed when he kisses william, and william wonders if he can still see the stars. 

*

gabe says, “shhh, shh, come this way,” and william does. 

they are both drunk – giggly and loose-limbed at the bottom of the staircase – but there’s something more, hotter, underneath the surface of every smile, every touch. william keeps wanting to check himself for burn marks. 

it feels as though he trips on every step on the way up, but gabe wraps an arm around his waist and holds him upright until they reach a door. william half expects gabe to kiss him up against it, but then they’re inside and okay. okay, there is a bed and there is gabe saporta, and william’s heart is about to burst its way out of his chest. 

“hey,” he says, and his voice is too high and too breathy. gabe looks down at him, eyes still bright but serious now, careful. 

“hey,” he echoes, running a hand through william’s hair, pushing it away from his face. it’s unexpectedly gentle, and william’s chest aches a little. “you okay?” 

william presses a hand to gabe’s chest and feels the pulse of his heart through the cotton shirt. “yeah,” he breathes. “yeah, i’m okay.” 

he kisses gabe softly for less than a minute before giving in and pressing further, harder, until gabe’s tongue is in his mouth and william is rocking up against the thigh pressed between his legs. 

“bed,” he mutters, pulling away, and gabe nods slightly frantically. they stumble across the room; william’s legs hit the mattress and he almost falls, but gabe is there to catch him again, strong arms and lips sliding down william’s neck. 

he lays william down on the bed, and there is a blur of clothes and skin, elbows and cheekbones getting in the way, and william wishes his own body weren’t so angular. he’s fucked people he wants to impress before, but he’s never felt like this, like his body is burning wherever gabe looks at him. 

“so pretty,” says gabe against his collarbone. his breath is warm and his mouth is still wet. “i wanna – can i fuck you?” 

“yeah,” william whispers, trying desperately hard to act as though his heart is not on fire. he doesn’t know where gabe gets lube from, can’t even remember whose room they’re in, but when he presses in with two fingers william’s breath hitches. 

“shh,” gabe says as he presses a kiss to william’s thigh, “shhh, it’s okay.” 

william tries to relax as gabe opens him up slowly, until eventually he’s rocking back against his four fingers and panting. 

“please,” he whines, sighing in relief when gabe makes his way up the bed and pushes inside. it’s a stretch, and william’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to breathe through it. gabe’s hand reaches down to stroke his face as his hips rock forward, and william turns his head to suck gabe’s thumb into his mouth, biting down at the feeling of being filled. 

gabe groans, and william can picture it, can see the lines of gabe’s mouth in his head as he spreads his legs wider and takes it all. his heart is a coil inside his chest and he knows he needs to breathe, but he needs gabe more. fuel, oxygen, heat, and william’s suddering and coming into his own fist, rasping for breath and still stretched wide open. 

he’s vaguely aware of gabe’s hips snapping up inside him, his forehead pressed into william’s neck, but he can’t stop shaking inside his own skin. “hey,” gabe says, “hey,” and william closes his eyes and breathes. 

*

gabe says, “let’s leave now,” and william does. 

the wall is cold and rough against his back, and the air is a slice of glass inside his lungs. gabe still has flour in his hair as he lights up a cigarette; william watches the flame, compares the short-lived flare to the dusty hue of the streetlight before giving up. there is no difference. either way, gabe’s eyes are still narrowed and his jaw is still set like stone. 

william remembers laughter earlier, and the smell of sweat, but now his breath is clouding over, frosty against his cheek, and there is nowhere to hide. william’s blood is too loud in his veins. he wonders if gabe can hear it. 

gabe turns to face him and his eyes are pained, mouth twisted in a thin, tight line. william doesn’t know how to fix anyone, least of all himself, so instead he leans forward and waits for a hand against his chest, for gabe to say _no, bilvy, not this time..._

a car speeds past, headlights sliding over skin and brickwork, and that seems fitting too, sharp in the silence. william’s eyes sting and blur as he reaches for gabe’s cigarette with shaky hands and breathes in slowly. 

*

tom says, “run away with me,” and william does the best he can until he has to stop and pant for breath. tom turns back to him, grinning manically, and says _what are you waiting for?_ , and then again, in the darkened bus with broken bottles between them, _“what are you waiting for?”_

william feels raw, rubbed out, and tom’s eyes are far too bright. he thinks of flashlights and stage lights and the neon glow of the city, and his stomach churns, empty and acidic. he tries to stand and tom’s fingers tighten around his wrist. his hands are softer than gabe’s, less calloused, and william knows his mouth is too. 

william watches their reflections in the shattered glass, and wonders what his own eyes are saying. 

when he pulls away, tom lets him go. 

*

gabe says, “come visit me some time,” and william does. 

he flies out to california even though he hates la, can’t understand why ryan likes the noise and the people so much. he likes the beaches, though; likes sitting out on the porch and smoking up with gabe and travie and pretending his lungs aren’t burning. 

the weight in his chest feels lighter when he’s kissing gabe breathless and reckless away from the flashing lights and award show cameras, or laughing in the kitchen at gabe’s microwaving disasters, or being pressed into cotton sheets, back arching and limbs still too long and angular. 

gabe grabs at his wrists, pinning them above his head to stop them from shaking, and william lets go, the coil of his heart unwinding slowly. 

*

carden’s eyes narrow when he tells william that gabe is on the phone, and william wonders why everyone seems to think they know something he doesn’t. 

but then gabe is on the phone saying “william, _darling_ ,” and william smiles wide and leans back against the couch, closing his eyes so that the room will stop spinning. 

*

gabe says, “please stay,” but william doesn’t. 

his hands are shaking as he pulls on his clothes, and he wonders whether gabe always looked so small in sleep. he can’t remember. he can’t remember anything. 

gabe’s house is too big, and william gets lost on the way to the front door, although maybe that has more to do with the way the rooms keep spinning. he locks the door behind him, and he can’t remember when gabe gave him a key either, but the metal is cool and flat in his hand. 

la is never cold in the winter, but the breeze still plays at william's shirt and he shivers as he walks away until his legs won’t carry him anymore. the grass beneath him is damp; he falls backwards and presses his hands into the dirt, thinks about calling pete, about calling sisky. he can’t remember how he got here, but the ground is cold and the light pollution sky feels like a vice around his chest. 

his eyes burn, and he runs his hands across his body, trying to remember where gabe hasn’t touched him. 

later in the shower he checks for burn marks between the bruises and pretends not to hear the phone ringing over the sound of the running water. 

*

gabe stops calling or william stops picking up. he can’t remember which one came first. rooms keep spinning like plates and he keeps holding his breath, waiting for them to come crashing down, and the dial tone buzz buzz buzzes through his bones and behind his eyelids.

pete says _“are you sure you’re okay?”_ , and carden says _“sort your shit out, man,”_ and gabe does not say anything because he is on the other side of the country and william will not answer the phone. 

william’s face is bright and pale in the fluorescent lighting, and he waits for an hour for the mirror to crack. 

*

william’s mom says, “you should come home more often,” and william does. 

he drives home for christmas, playing carols too loudly to drown out the radio silence in the car, and chicago is still freezing and mechanical and beautiful. his mum hugs him hard, squeezing the air out of his lungs, and his dad takes william’s hand like he doesn’t realise it’s already shaking. 

the city is full of people william does not want to see, so he stays inside as much as possible, watching the snow turn to slush through the window panes. his mom doesn’t mind; william is smiling and polite and always does the washing up, and he wonders if she even realises he’s avoiding half of chicago to stay in and play house with his nieces. 

in the evenings he locks himself away in his childhood bedroom and stares up at the paper stars on the ceiling, thinking about being 17 and late nights and other things best left alone. his breathing sounds hollow in the empty room, crisp and uneven. 

he thinks about calling gabe, runs through a litany of imagined conversations, things he could never say. he whispers them under his breath. the room does not stop moving. 

after a week his mother sends him out for groceries, and william knows this means she has noticed his hermitage. he scrolls through his list of contacts, looking for someone, anyone that doesn’t hate him, and pretends he doesn’t see gabe’s name. then he scrolls back up and does it again, eyes flicking over and over the one number he can’t bring himself to call. it feels ridiculous and pathetic, but william’s hands are traitors, along with his heart. 

he meets up with jon walker of all people, in a coffee shop william doesn’t recognise, and it’s loud enough for him to feel safe. jon hugs him when he sees him, and william does not ask about ryan or tom or pete. instead they talk for an hour about nothing, about music and jon’s cats and chicago winters, and jon’s eyes are soft when he smiles, even if his mouth doesn’t stretch as wide as before. william wonder about pain and absence, and then he wonders if one day his own eyes will lie so easily. 

he’s lying on his bed at home and the stars still glow in the dark all these years later. the phone rings and rings, and william imagines gabe’s too big house and all those doors and feels bile rising in his throat. 

william hangs up before he reaches the answering machine. 

*

gabe says, “come away with me,” and william does. he does because his eyes are raw and heavy, and he wants someone else to breathe for him for once. 

he follow gabe to uruguay, and stands on beaches were the waves stretch out in every direction, and lets gabe call him chiquito in front of his grandparents. the air is warmer here, more solid, like a fist rather than a knife in his chest, and the sun makes itself a home inside his veins. william stares out to sea, feeling the salt water lay heavy on his lungs, and thinks that jagged edges have an affinity with the ocean. 

william crawls into gabe’s bed on the second night, wrapping himself around his body and watching the moonlight through the open window cast patterns on the ceiling. gabe doesn’t mention it the next morning, and he doesn’t kiss william or ask him questions, and william thinks that maybe this is okay. he knows he can’t run away forever, but right here, right now –

\- gabe’s smile is bright as he pulls him into the surf and william runs, runs, until he has to stop, bent double and gasping. gabe pats his back and pulls him close and lets him cry into his shoulder right there on the beach, too much salt spilling over into the sunlight. 

that night gabe’s lips brush electric shock light against his forehead, and william knows it’s okay. 

a week in and gabe’s making sandwiches in the kitchen when william kisses him. it’s open mouthed and desperate against the centre island for a full ten seconds before suddenly it’s california again, white light through the windows and wide eyes, and william’s throat constricts. he reached up to push gabe away, but he’s already pulling back. 

“william,” he says, in a voice almost too low to hear. “william, william, william.” 

william doesn’t leave. 

gabe’s family smile at him like they mean it, and william does his best to be what they want. he holds gabe’s hand, and kisses his cheek, and it doesn’t feel like fire any more, more like smoke. ashes to ashes, and gabe’s eyes still burning. 

every night, william watches gabe sleep and dreams of kissing him until one day he does, leaning over and closing the gap like it was never there. 

gabe’s eyes snap open and he stares up at william, and william knows he’s waiting for him to stop. william doesn’t. he pushes as far as he can, knowing gabe won’t stop him, until he’s breathless and gabe’s face is a blur. 

he pulls back, and gabe is still staring. it aches more than it burns, but it still makes william’s chest wind tighter. 

“please,” says william, wishing his hair was still long enough to cover his face and hide his desperation. 

gabe nods slowly, giving him time to change his mind. it’s a nice gesture, the illusion of choice, but it’s not what william needs right now. he rolls his hips down against gabe’s and waits for him to retrieve lube and condoms, watching his back muscles move like clockwork. 

william preps himself while gabe watches, a flush rising up his chest, and he cannot make eye contact yet. gabe’s eyes are too bright as william straddles his hips, hearing the harsh gasp as he positions himself as sinks down, down, eyes squeezing shut and breathing out slowly. he takes a moment to let himself adjust, trying not to shiver when he feels fingers brushing over his face. 

“billy,” gabe whispers. william wants to tell him to shut up, but he presses a hand to gabe’s chest and sighs quietly as shifts and takes him in further, and it seems to have the same effect. 

it’s easier to manoeuvre himself like that, clenching down and rotating his hips to make gabe moan. 

“fuck, i – ” william shudders as he feels gabe pulse and come inside him, eyes blinking open before he can stop them. and gabe is there, starlit and beautiful and right there, and william’s gasping and coming from the sight of him stretched out against the mattress. 

afterwards william lets gabe clean them both up, feels the sheets crumpled under his back, and waits for burn marks or fireworks. gabe is warm next to him, present in a way william hasn’t craved in a long time, but it’s nice, long fingers across his ribs and breathing in canon. 

gabe’s voice is rough when he speaks, sore and uncertain in a way william has never heard him before. 

“i’m sorry about your band.” 

william’s smile tries desperately hard not to be bitter. “me too.” 

the blood patterns behind his eyelids pulse red, then settle into darkness. 

*

the flight home is turbulent, and william watches gabe sleep through it, mouth hanging open and cap pulled down to cover his eyes. he realises he knows every line and angle of gabe’s face, that every breath is as familiar as his own. the thought rises up through his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, but he pushes it away and dreams about the ocean. 

la is right where they left it, loud and chaotic and full of everyone whose calls william has been ignoring for the past month. gabe’s house is still too big, and william tries not to feel like he’s drowning in the bedsheets. 

when he wakes up gabe is gone, and there’s a sudden heart-jolting moment before he remembers where he is. the jet lag makes his bones ache as he stands up, but the room isn’t shaking and his stomach is settled, and he realises he remembers how to breathe again. 

gabe is on the balcony, dragging slowly on a cigarette, and he seems unsurprised when william leans up against him, leeching his body heat. 

“there’s no stars in california,” states william, but his voice is soft. gabe smiles at him, wide and beautiful, and william’s chest no longer feels too small

“we’ll steal some from chicago,” gabe promises, and it doesn’t hurt any more, to think of home and winter and nights under skies made of glass. william pushes at it, just a little, trying at the stitches, but the wound stays shut. he sighs and closes his eyes, and when gabe kisses him he doesn’t pull away. 

this time, when gabe asks him to stay, william does. 


End file.
